


Couples Counseling

by MsImpala67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Sam, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Use Their Words, Eventual Smut, First Time Wincest, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Slow Burn, Smut, Wincest - Freeform, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8928166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsImpala67/pseuds/MsImpala67
Summary: What better way to investigate a marriage counselor (who may or may not be responsible for the death of six of her clients) than to go to marriage counseling? It's just pretend right? No different than putting on the FBI suits. Of course, nothing ever goes according to plan, and Sam and Dean quickly get more than they bargained for.





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a total of 9 chapters to this story. All are written, but need editing. They will be posted over the next week, so no long waiting for the next chapter!

“Remind me again what we’re doing here?” Dean is only half-sitting down in his chair, looking very much like he’s one wrong answer away from fleeing.

“Calm down,” Sam answers, keeping his voice low and steady. “Three people, all from the same small town, murdered their spouse then committed suicide, all within the span of a week. The only thing they have in common is this therapist.”

Dean leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, well, then we investigate. I still don’t get why we’re pretending to get therapy. And _couples_ therapy. Really, Sam?”

Sam still doesn’t move, just speaks in the same calm voice. “We’re getting therapy because, as of right now, we have nothing to go on. We don’t want to scare her off if she’s involved, so interrogation is out. And it’s couples therapy because she is a marriage counselor.”

Dean sighs loudly. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbles.

Sam says nothing, just tries to hide his smile at Dean’s nerves at the thought of having to sit through a counseling session.

“Dr. Sodhi will see you now,” the receptionist says. She stares at Dean as he stands up, and Sam watches the inevitable small smile on her lips, and Dean’s wink in response. When Sam clears his throat, Dean seems to remember that he’s not supposed to be flirting with the receptionist, especially a female receptionist, if they want this to work. He shoves his hands in his pockets and follows Sam through the white door on the other side of the waiting room.

“Good afternoon,” Dr. Sodhi says. She gets up from behind her desk and comes around to shake their hands. Sam sees nothing out of the ordinary at first glance, trades a look with Dean, who only shrugs like he didn’t think they would find anything here anyway. The doctor is tall and thin, with dark skin that matches her dark hair and eyes. She’s very pretty, but there’s a stiffness about the way she moves, a professionalism that borders on coldness. “Have a seat,” she says after they’ve introduced themselves. She gestures to the room at large, then takes a seat in a comfortable arm chair, leaving Sam and Dean to decide between the couch and two other chairs. 

Sam sits on the couch because it’s closest, then rolls his eyes as Dean glances between the couch and the chair, undoubtedly trying to decide what the doctor will think of any choice he makes. Sam reaches out and tugs at Dean’s jacket sleeve until he plops down on the couch, where he quickly slides as far away from Sam as possible. 

Dr. Sodhi just watches silently, adjusting her glasses before setting her notebook down on the small table between them. “Why don’t we start with you telling me why you’re here.”

Dean snorts, and Sam plays into it. “We’re here because, well, we’ve had some issues lately. Fighting a lot.”

Dean glares at him, and Sam raises his eyebrows and shrugs. What did Dean expect him to say? They have to play the part.

“Are the fights about anything in particular?” she asks.

“Not really.” Sam looks at the floor and scuffs one of his boots back and forth, playing it up. “We just see a lot of things differently these days.”

“How long have you two been together?” 

Sam decides on the truth. “Pretty much our whole lives. But things got serious when I was twenty-two. We started working together then, and things...”

She nods to let him know she understands. “Dean? Would you like to say anything?” She shifts her gaze to Dean, who is staring at his hands. 

He looks up at her nervously. “Me? Nah, I think Sammy’s pretty much said it all.” He grins, and Sam knows he’s used to that charm working on just about everyone. Somehow, Sam doesn’t think it will fly with Dr. Sodhi.

“Now’s a good time to go over the rules of therapy,” she says decisively. 

Sam hides his grin and watches her carefully as she picks up her notebook and starts writing something down. He isn’t sure what it is about her, but something seems off. Maybe it’s his own nerves about the situation, but she doesn’t seem...nice enough. Polite, sure. But weren’t therapists and counselors supposed to exude compassion? Weren’t they supposed to make you feel at ease and comfortable?

“Therapy has rules?” Dean huffs, and Sam inwardly cringes at his skeptical tone.

“Of course,” Dr. Sodhi responds, a smooth and practiced smile on her face. “It’s important that we are all on the same page. First, this is a safe space. You are free to say whatever you want, feel however you want, and express yourself in whatever way you want excluding physical violence. Second, more progress will be made when both parties are active participants.” Again, Sam tries not to smile as she narrows her eyes at Dean with that statement. “And finally, I give homework. I hope both of you are committed to working on whatever issues exist between you outside of this office as well as during our sessions.”

“We’re committed,” Sam nods.

“Then tell me. What do you see as the biggest obstacle in your relationship? Why are we really here?”

Sam thinks for a moment, wracks his brain for something that sounds plausible and nicely vague. “Uh, well…”

“Can I tell you what I think?” she asks, pulling her glasses away and setting them down on top of her notebook, once again relegated to the table. 

Sam nods, while Dean stares at the pictures on the wall.

“I think the two of you have some serious trust issues. You’re close to one another. Maybe bordering on codependent. I can tell from the way you keep looking at each other that you don’t have to talk to communicate, that you are so used to being around each other that your body language has become just another way the two of you have full conversations. Dean, you don’t want to be here. Perhaps that’s because you’re afraid to talk too much about these things? You’re afraid of bringing up old wounds, or maybe of the consequences of dealing with them.” Dean shifts uncomfortably, but Dr. Sodhi keeps going. “I notice you don’t wear wedding rings, or have any outward sign that you’re married. Like I said, I believe you have major trust issues. It would be impossible for the two of you to have been this close for as long as you have without breaking trust somewhere along the way. And that’s a good place to start.”

Sam stares at her, a little stunned at how accurate she is. She’s wrong about the nature of their relationship, of course, but the rest…

Sam has to remind himself that he’s here to get a read on her, not the other way around. 

“So. How do we do this?” he asks, ready to play along for the sake of this case.

“Well, I like to start by focusing on the positive. Aside from the fact that you’ve managed to keep this relationship together for as long as you have, the fact that you are actively trying to work on it is wonderful.” 

Once more, Sam wonders what it is that just...feels wrong. She’s saying all the right things, and her mannerisms are all just the right tone of calm and soothing, but she still seems robotic. 

Too perfect.

“So what I’d like us to do today is very simple,” she continues. “In the spirit of moving forward and solving problems, I’d like the two of you to take a minute and tell the other what you love about him.”

“You want us to do what?” Dean scoffs.

“It’s a good reminder of why you’re together,” she encourages, “and what it is you’re trying to save.”

Dean turns to Sam with pleading eyes. “Look, this isn’t-”

“We can do that,” Sam interrupts. “Uh. I guess. Um, Dean’s funny. And he’s a good cook when he wants to be.”

Dean chimes in, nodding vigorously like Sam’s given him an out, like he wants the doctor to know he’s a good little patient. “Sam’s really smart. Scary smart. And he makes sure I get some vegetables in me every now and then.”

Dr. Sodhi nods, takes a note, then takes her glasses off. “Let’s try that again,” she suggests. “And this time, I’d like you to dig a bit deeper. Tell me something specific and real.”

“Can I ask you something first?” Sam asks.

She folds her hands in her lap. “Of course.”

“How successful is therapy? Do most of the couples that come see you work things out?”

Dean shifts slightly, a small enough movement that Sam knows he’s the only one who noticed it. This is their chance to get a read on Dr. Sodhi, and they both know it.

“That’s irrelevant,” she smiles, the expression still ringing false to Sam. Dean shifts again and Sam knows he feeling the same vibe. “We aren’t here to compare your relationship to others, and if I give you statistics, you’ll use them to decide whether or not this experience is worth it, rather than focusing on your own needs.”

She’s not wrong, Sam thinks. And it was a perfect answer. 

“Let’s just try again,” she pushes. “Sam. Tell me what it is about Dean that you love. Why have you stayed with him so long?”

Sam sighs, knowing he isn’t going to get out of it this time. “I’ve stayed with him,” he begins, feeling Dean very carefully not looking at him, “because he’s always there for me.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“He...he puts what I need first. Wants to make sure that I’m always safe and happy. Always has.” Sam can’t look at Dean, can’t deal with how mortifying this is going to be the second they are alone.

“Good. And Dean?” Dr. Sodhi turns her dark eyes away from Sam, and he lets out a deep, relieved breath as Dean takes the hot seat. “What about you?”

“I, uh.” 

The doctor only stares at him, and he keeps rambling, trying to come up with an answer, knowing she won’t let it go until he does.

“Um, I guess Sam pulls me back in whenever I spin out.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” Dr. Sodhi nods encouragingly, scribbling notes. 

“I just. Uh. He’s good at calming me down when I need it,” Dean allows, then rubs at the back of his neck and purses his lips, letting everyone know he’s done talking. 

“There. Easy, right?” The doctor smiles at them indulgently, like they’ve earned a gold star sticker.

Sam and Dean both nod silently.

“I think that’s a good start for today. I see that you’ve scheduled three meetings this week? So I’ll see you Wednesday. For next time, I’d like you both to individually think about one specific issue you’d like to address. Is there one event that’s causing problems, or one ongoing frustration you’d like to fix, that kind of thing.”

Sam stands and smiles. “Thanks, Dr. Sodhi.”

Dean says nothing, just nods and heads for the door as fast as he can.  

********

“What do you think?” Sam asks, sliding into the passenger seat of the already rumbling Impala.

“I think that whole thing gave me the creeps.”

“Dean…”

Dean sighs. “I think there’s something weird. She’s like…”

“A little too perfect?”

“Yeah. Rigid. There’s something creepy about her.” Dean pulls out of the parking lot and points the car in the direction of their motel.

“Agreed. So we’ll go back on Wednesday. In the meantime, I’m going to see if I can hack into her files and get a list of patients, start checking them out.”

“And I’m going to get some dinner after I drop you off. Burgers okay? Or do you need me to get you some healthy shit?”

“It’s not healthy ‘shit’, Dean. Most of it’s delicious, actually. Just because you are determined on giving yourself a heart attack before you’re forty-”

“I just know that bacon tastes good, Sammy. That’s a scientific fact.”

Sam rolls his eyes, then grins. “Maybe us going to therapy isn’t a terrible idea. We do argue a lot.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Nah, that’s just how we say I love you,” he teases.

Sam glances over at his brother, face glowing in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windshield, and grins. “I suppose,” he says softly.

When Dean speaks again, Sam isn’t sure he hears him correctly at first. “Did you mean what you said back there?”

It takes Sam a minute to decide if Dean’s serious or if he’s just waiting for another excuse to mock and tease. There’s no amusement in Dean’s face as he keeps his eyes carefully trained on the road, hands placed strategically on the steering wheel, so Sam decides to answer. “Sure, Dean. You’ve always taken care of me. You know that.”

Dean says nothing.

“Did you mean what _you_ said?” Sam asks when he can’t stand the silence any longer.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean nods. 

Sam isn’t sure what to make of that, so he just turns his head to his window.


	2. Wednesday

Dean is quiet as they sit in the waiting room of Dr. Sodhi’s office, and Sam isn’t sure what to make of that.

They’ve studied all the patients, gone through the files they managed to steal over and over, trying to figure out any pattern or connection to the victims, trying to predict who might be next. But the files are fairly useless, because they don’t have enough detail. There’s nothing personal in them. 

So today, the plan is to figure out a way to get Dr. Sodhi’s personal files on her patients. It would be best if they could get her notebook, but Sam isn’t sure how easy that will be. She probably doesn’t leave that lying around. He’ll settle for figuring out the layout of her office, then coming back after hours to take what they need. 

Maybe Dean’s just focused. But Sam can’t shake the feeling that this is about _him_ somehow. 

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Dean’s sudden voice makes the receptionist jump a little, but she quickly recovers her smile.

“Please, call me Leah, Mr. Winchester.”

“Okay, Leah. Is there a water cooler or something around? I could use a drink.” He grins then, all cocky charm, and Sam watches as Leah goes gooey under it, falls apart like most people do. “And you can call me Dean, by the way.”

“I’ll get you a bottle of water, Dean,” she giggles, blushing a little. “Be right back.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Easy, Dean. You’re supposed to be in love with me, remember?”

Dean smiles, but Sam doesn’t believe it. 

Soon enough, Leah is back with a bottle of water for Dean, and she waves them into Dr. Sodhi’s office.

“Welcome back,” she says brightly, a little less stiff today when she smiles, already sitting in one of the chairs in the center of the room.

Sam drops down on the couch as he smiles and says hello, and this time, Dean doesn’t fuss about sitting next to him. 

“So,” she says, crossing her legs and leaning back, “how are you two today?”

“Fine,” Sam shrugs.

“Have you thought about what I asked at the last meeting? Did you each come prepared to discuss one specific issue you struggle with?”

Neither of them speak, and Dr. Sodhi stares at them. Sam suddenly feels like he showed up to class without his final project on the day it was due. 

“Uh,” he stammers, realizing she isn’t going to be the first to speak, “I guess I thought about it.”

“And what specific issue would you like to discuss?”

“Sam doesn’t listen to me,” Dean says suddenly, interrupting Sam’s stammering, voice quiet but solid.

Sam turns and gapes at him, sees Dean’s cheeks flush, and he isn’t sure which one of them is more surprised by the outburst.

“Good. That’s perfect,” Dr. Sodhi says, grabbing her notebook and pulling a pen from where she’s stuck it in her perfectly smooth ponytail. “Give me an example, please.”

Sam stares at Dean, genuinely curious as to what he’s going to say.

Dean licks his lips and rubs his hands up and down his thighs. “I just wish that he would trust my judgement a little more sometimes is all,” he says, voice small in the large office.

“Be more specific.”

Dean sighs, and Sam is torn between being horrified and insanely curious. “Yeah, Dean,” he encourages, when the curiosity wins out, “be more specific.”

Dean glances at Dr. Sodhi, who bobs her head in a signal for him to talk directly to Sam. With a deep breath, he turns his head back to Sam and spits the words out as fast as he can. “Sometimes you get ideas in your head, and you won’t listen to anyone else when they try to tell you they’re wrong. You won’t let anyone help you, won’t listen to anyone else’s advice.”

Dr. Sodhi is writing quickly, turning the page when she gets to the end, a diamond bracelet flashing as her wrist moves. “And how does that affect you, Dean?”

“I get stuck cleaning up the mess,” he says instantly, then makes a face like he isn’t sure why he said it. 

That stings somewhere in Sam’s chest. He knows that he and Dean have had their issues, but he thought they were all in the past, that they were truly working as a team now. Was he wrong? Was Dean still angry over all that shit? Or worse- was he still hurt by it?

“Sam? Would you like to respond to that?”

Sam opens his mouth, but he’s caught so off guard by this whole moment that he can’t think of a single response. “I don’t know,” he says. 

“It’s okay. You can take all the time you need to process. But Dean? I’m very proud of you for saying that. We’re off to a much better start today than last time.”

Dean rolls his eyes and sinks back into the couch, walls back up and face carefully blank.

Dr. Sodhi talks for a while then, about how important communication is, about how important it is to consider one's partner and their feelings when making decisions, especially decisions that can potentially affect both parties. 

Sam barely hears her, and he absolutely forgets that he’s supposed to be secretly investigating her. Dean’s words are the only thing he can focus on. 

********

“So, we’ll grab some dinner, then head back after it gets dark?” Dean asks.

Sam nods.

“You okay, Sam? You’ve been quiet all afternoon.” Dean’s keeping his tone casual, and Sam can tell he’s hoping Sam won’t want to talk, that he’ll just ignore everything like Dean always does.

“What was that about?”

“What was what about?”

Sam sits down on the motel bed across from the table, where Dean is lounging in a chair, socked feet running over the dirty carpet as he drinks his beer. “You know what. All that back at Dr. Sodhi’s.”

“Aw, Sam, we aren’t gonna do this, are we?”

“You’re the one who apparently has some things to say, and I don’t want you to be walking around secretly pissed at me. So.” Sam gestures for Dean to start talking.

“I’m not walking around like anything, Sam. I thought we were supposed to be playing a part, right? So I played it.”

“Didn’t sound like you were playing to me.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you, man.”

Dean stands at the exact same time as Sam, neither of them planning it, but they find themselves accidentally close, chest almost touching chest. Dean sucks in a breath, staring at Sam’s neck instead of his eyes, and Sam waits, wondering what Dean will do. 

“Dean?”

“I’m not angry,” Dean says. Slowly, his gaze raises to Sam’s, and Sam finds himself looking into green eyes he’s known his whole life, eyes that shouldn’t make him feel so...unsettled. “It just came out. I don’t know.”

“Yeah.” Sam gives in, steps back so he can breathe again. “We’re good, though?”

“‘Course we are,” Dean grins, shoving at Sam’s shoulder. It should feel playful, but mostly it just feels needy, like Dean needs the reassurance as much as Sam does.

“Let’s go get some food, then,” Sam suggests.

After a quick dinner, they find themselves back at Dr. Sodhi’s office. The only security cameras at the office hang on the outside of the building, and Sam disabled them from his laptop before they left the motel, just to be safe. 

It’s almost too easy to slip into Dr. Sodhi’s private office, but they aren’t in the clear yet. There are no filing cabinets to be found, no hard copies of files that say anything other than what they already know. 

That only leaves one option.

Dean paces around the office, keeping an eye out for anything or anyone, while Sam hacks into her computer. It takes him a few minutes to get in, a few more minutes to find what he needs, and then he’s transferring everything to a flash drive. 

Twenty minutes later, they are back in the Impala, headed toward the safety of their no-name motel. 

“This is good,” Sam says. “Now we can take as much time as we need looking through it, and we don’t have to worry about getting caught.”

Dean only nods, pulling into a liquor store to stock up.

Two hours later, they are drunk and laughing. Sam is sitting on the floor, back to the edge of the bed and long legs stretched out in front of him as he reads the files. Dean is lying on the bed, stretched on his stomach, head hanging off to look over Sam’s shoulder.

“This guy is a piece of work,” he says. “He moved his mother in without asking the wife first. Gave Mom the master bedroom and moved their bedroom to the basement.”

Sam snorts with laughter and takes a swig straight from Dean’s bottle of whiskey. “What about this one? Apparently, he can only have sex in the shower. Thinks it’s unclean otherwise.”

“Sounds like grounds for divorce to me,” Dean says. “Not that I don’t enjoy shower sex. But they’re just missing out on so much other stuff.”

Sam leans his head back on the bed, turns it to look at Dean. “You’d divorce me?” He isn’t sure why he makes the joke, blames it on the alcohol heating him up from the inside out until he’s floating. 

Dean keeps his eyes on the computer screen. “‘Course not. You’re stuck with me, Sammy. But then, I expect us to have sex more places than the shower.”

The words sink into Sam’s skin like water, slide through him and make him dizzier than he already is. He’s drunk enough to let them, to enjoy the sensation without questioning it. He knows now that something has shifted. Something that he isn’t quite ready to think about yet.

“So, it looks like the couples that died all had something in common.” Dean says a few minutes later.

Sam watches the sharp edge of Dean’s jaw, stares at the stubble Dean didn’t bother to shave off that morning. “What’s that?” he says lazily. How much has he had to drink, anyway?

“Someone was cheating in each of the marriages.”

Dean slides off the bed and into the floor, shoulder rubbing against Sam’s as he leans down, closer to the laptop screen. Sam breathes in the familiar scent of Dean, wondering why he’s never noticed how pleasant it is before now. He’s been smelling it his whole life, and while he knows it as well as anyone can know anything, he’s never really thought about how nice it is, earthy and clean, all kinds of comforting. 

“Sam?”

Sam realizes that Dean asked him a question. And even though Sam was staring right at him, he has no idea what Dean just said.

“Sorry, what?”

“Dude. How drunk are you?”

Sam shakes his head, grateful for the excuse, and grins sheepishly.

“I asked if you thought we should pretend that one of us cheated. If that’s the root of this, it couldn’t hurt, right?”

“So you agree with me now that it’s the doctor?”

“Well, I always agreed that she was off. But what are the odds that all of these murders happened to patients that were seeing her for the exact same reason?”

Sam nods. “Okay. So I cheated on you.”

“Whoa, who says you get to be the big stud? Maybe I cheated on you.”

“We want it to be believable, right?” 

Dean shoves at Sam, knocking him down to the floor, both of them laughing.


	3. Friday

“Hey, Leah,” Dean smiles, greeting the receptionist like they’re old friends.

“Hi, Dean,” she smiles back, edges of her lips pulling up slowly, like the smile is a secret just for Dean. 

Sam frowns with the sudden lurch of jealousy in his chest. She’s a receptionist at an office for marriage counseling. What the fuck is she doing flirting with the patients? And what is Dean doing flirting back? They’re on a case, and Dean should know better than to risk blowing their cover for a possible one night stand. 

Sam grabs Dean’s arm and shoves him through the door into Dr. Sodhi’s office, not waiting for Leah to wave them in. 

“Good afternoon,” Dr. Sodhi says, looking up from her desk. Even caught unaware, she’s put together, desk neat and tidy, manicured nails clicking over the keyboard of her computer, same diamond bracelet glittering against her skin. “You look angry,” she says when her eyes land on Sam.

“It’s nothing,” he grumbles, sinking into the couch and leaning over the arm, as far away from Dean as he can get, forcing a calm expression for the doctor.

“I think we’re ready to talk about why we’re really here,” Dean says. His voice is just the right volume, wobbles a tiny bit like he’s nervous, and Sam hides his smile as his anger drains away, a little in awe of how good Dean is at this when he wants to be. 

Sam plays his part, lets his eyes dart back and forth like he can’t believe Dean’s really about to do this, like he’s not sure he wants him to. Dean opens his mouth to spit out the rehearsed story about his one night stand a few years ago that they never really got over, and how guilty Dean feels that he wasn’t faithful, and how Sam hasn’t trusted him since. Let the good doctor make what she wants of that.

“Sam cheated,” Dean blurts out. 

That isn’t the story they’d agreed on.

For a moment, Sam isn’t sure who’s more shocked. It’s a toss up between the three of them, all going still for a moment with wide eyes and open mouths. 

“Okay,” Dr. Sodhi finally says, as calm as ever. “Tell me about that.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, totally caught off guard, waiting for Dean to say whatever it is he’s going to say. 

“It was years ago,” Dean says, a little stilted, looking down at his boots now that everyone’s eyes are on him. “I was, uh, gone for a while. I didn’t want to be. And Sam knew I couldn’t help it.”

Sam’s heart starts pounding as he realizes that Dean is telling the truth. Dean’s fucking talking about their actual life, their actual relationship. 

“And he was with someone else during that time?” Dr Sodhi prompts when Dean stops.

Dean only nods, but Sam can feel the tension pouring off of him, like the wound of Amelia is still there after all this time.

“Well, Dean, if you were gone, like you say, then I-”

“He could have loo-, uh, waited for me. Could’ve at least spent some time getting over me being gone, anyway.”

Dr. Sodhi looks at Sam with controlled compassion. “Sam? Would you like to respond?”

“You know it’s not that simple.” Sam finds himself seeking to comfort Dean, forgetting for the moment why they are there, what mission they’re on. “And I’ve told you how sorry I am. That I would take it all back if I could.”

“I know,” Dean nods, clearing his throat gruffly, slipping back into the role he’s supposed to be playing. “But that’s why we’re here,” he tells Dr. Sodhi. “I guess I just still don’t trust him completely like I used to.”

It’s Dean’s tone when he says that, the touch of self-righteousness in it, that pisses Sam off. Before he knows it, he’s vomiting up his own confession. “What about you? You betrayed me too, you know.”

“What? When?” Dean looks just as blindsided as Sam had been, and Sam takes a tiny bit of satisfaction at that. 

Sam turns and speaks directly to the doctor, like she’s his teacher and he wants her to know he’s not the only one who broke the rules. “After he came back, I...uh,” Sam takes a second to think about how to phrase it without just telling her _I died and Dean tricked me into letting myself get possessed by an angel_. “I should have left. Things happened, and it was...it was time for me to go. But Dean manipulated me into staying.”

“Manipulated?”

Sam nods. “He lied to me about some stuff. Stuff I had a right to know. Stuff that would have changed things.”

“But it doesn’t matter now, does it? Everything worked out,” Dean interjects.

“For you! Everything worked out for you!” Sam can’t help his anger now, because no matter how far past this they are, Dean is still Dean, and knows how to push his buttons like no one else. “You’re so selfish. As long as you get what you want in the end, you think everyone else should be happy, too.”

“Let’s stop right there,” Dr. Sodhi interrupts. “Instead of accusations, let’s try an exercise.”

Sam sighs and leans back into the couch. He feels Dean do the same. 

“Obviously, the two of you no longer feel that you can trust the other. You are both still here, still committed, but you’re both constantly worried, constantly wondering if the other is going to leave. I don’t think it’s so much a matter of being worried about other people. I think it’s a matter of neither of you feeling like you’re enough for the other. You think the other will move on because you aren’t giving him what he needs.”

This is fucking ridiculous. They aren’t supposed to be discussing their real life. They aren’t here to solve real problems, problems that Sam is totally happy leaving in the past. 

But here they are.

“So here’s the exercise I’d like you to try. Turn and face each other.”

Neither of them move.

“We can’t get anywhere without active participation,” she warns, looking over her glasses with an expression that leaves no room for argument.

Sam reluctantly turns and looks at Dean, who is just as reluctantly looking back. Sam narrows his eyes in a glare, silently telling Dean that he is so not forgiven for all of this. Dean glares back. 

“Okay. I want you to look straight into each other’s eyes and tell him that you want to be here, and that you aren’t going anywhere.”

“What?” Dean snorts, his eyes leaving Sam’s to look at her. “No.” He shakes his head, like he’s finally reached his limit.

“If the two of you ever expect to work through this, to talk honestly about it at all, you need to get rid of the fear that it will drive the other one away. So make the commitment, Dean. Tell Sam that you aren’t going anywhere, no matter what happens next. I think you’ll be surprised how freeing it is.”

Dean rolls his eyes dramatically, licks his lips as his eyebrows pull closer together in a frown. But he looks Sam in the eye again, and says the words. “I want to be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Sam isn’t expecting it to make him feel anything, but he also isn’t expecting the heat of Dean’s words. There’s something true behind them, something strong and uncharacteristically vulnerable in Dean’s tone that makes Sam’s heart swell and his bones ache.

Sam doesn’t need prompting. The words just come, quieter than he’d intended, like they’re fragile, like they need to be said with care. “I want to be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean’s frown slides into something else. Not a smile, exactly, but something softer. 

“That was good,” Dr. Sodhi smiles. “Now the real work can begin.”

********

“Dean-”

“Dude,” Dean holds up his hand, silencing Sam. “Don’t. We aren’t talking about it.” Dean said the same thing when they got in the car, said the same thing when they got back to the motel, and now that they are in the room, showered and settling in for the night, Sam’s not having it.

“Like hell we aren’t. What the fuck was that? We had a whole story planned, man, and you just-”

“I know! I don’t know, it just came out. But it’s nothing.”

“Nothing? I just went through a fucking counseling session with you talking about Amelia and Gadreel, and it’s nothing?”

“Shut up, Sam, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Well that’s just too damn bad, Dean.” Emotions are too high, Sam is too confused and too tired to control the anger simmering in his gut like he usually would. Instead, he just grabs Dean’s shoulder and spins him around to face him, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt.

Dean reacts like he’s been punched, like he’s being attacked. He grabs Sam’s wrist and twists out of the grip, shoving Sam back against the wall and pushing an arm into Sam’s throat, enough pressure that Sam can’t move without cutting off his air supply.

For a moment, they just stare at each other, chests pressing together as they suck in deep breaths, waiting to see who is going to move first.

Sam feels it when Dean’s mood shifts. His grip doesn’t loosen, but it stops feeling threatening. It becomes needy instead, and his eyes focus in on Sam’s mouth, Dean’s own lips parting even farther. 

And then they are pulling away from each other, neither of them brave enough to look at the other now.

They are both masters at ignoring things, at pushing them down and pretending they never happened. That’s what they do for the rest of the night. But when the lights are off and Sam’s in his bed, he can’t stop himself from rolling to his back, looking at the ceiling as he says the thing he’s been thinking all night.

“I trust you, Dean. I need to. All that shit...it’s over now. And I trust you. Because you’re all I have, all I’ve ever had.”

Dean doesn’t answer, and Sam lets him pretend to be asleep. It’s almost an hour later when Dean’s whisper breaks the silence. “I trust you, too, Sammy. And I shouldn’t have brought all that up again. We’re good. We always are, okay?”

It’s Sam’s turn to pretend he’s asleep now, and Dean soon drifts off, small snores filling the room as Sam lies there, listening. Trying to forget the feel of Dean’s arm pressing him against the wall and the heat of Dean’s eyes as they looked at him.


	4. Saturday

“Sam. Sam, get up.”

Sam ignores Dean’s voice and curls his legs a little more under the covers. 

“Sam, come on. There’s been another murder.”

And Sam’s awake, just like that, sitting up and brushing his hair out of his face, lungs burning and heart slamming a couple of beats until the shock of waking up so suddenly wears off.  
“Which couple?”

“The lawyer and stay-at-home dad.”

“She was fucking her assistant, right?”

“Yep. Looks like Dad found out and shot her, then himself.”

“Shit.”

The two of them don’t say much more as they dress in their suits, head to the crime scene, and hope no one from Dr. Sodhi’s office happens to be within ten miles of them while they are FBI. 

It doesn’t take long to get all the information they need. There is definitely a spirit, EMF flying all over the place in the fancy apartment that's now spattered with blood, and within a couple of hours, they’re back at the motel, papers and laptop cords and cartons of food cluttering the table as they narrow it down.

“So, we’ve got a vengeful spirit on our hands,” Sam thinks out loud, and Dean nods. “But how is it getting to all of these people? They were all murdered in their own homes.”

“Could be a cursed object?” Dean muses. “Or maybe some sort of…” Sam watches as Dean’s eyes narrow onto his own laptop screen, where he’s watching the apartment building’s security camera. “Possession?”

Sam gets up, walks around the table and leans down over Dean’s shoulder. There, on the screen, walking into the apartment, is Dr. Sodhi. It’s a profile shot, but that’s definitely her, with her hair pulled back into a neat bun, her high heels, and her diamond bracelet flashing on her wrist. And she’s walking into the victim’s apartment building- just before the couple was killed, according to the time stamp on the video.

“What the hell?” Sam asks. “It can’t be her. She’s human. There was spirit evidence all over that apartment.”

“Is she human?” Dean counters. “Like I said, she could be possessed by a ghost. Could be something else entirely.”

Sam nods. “Let’s check her out, then.”

Dean turns and grins at Sam, always excited to have a lead and a plan of action. Sam turns to grin back, and realizes just how closes their faces are. 

Oops.

But neither one of them pull away for a moment, and Sam almost enjoys the warmth of Dean radiating up and into his own body. For a moment, he wonders what it would be like to just lean down a little more, to give in to the need to be closer, to say all the things he can’t.

_God, this therapy is fucking with my head,_ Sam thinks, and he jerks his head back a little too quickly to be natural. Dean turns back to the laptop, pushing a hand over his hair and hunching his shoulders. Blocking Sam out.

“I’ve got an address, but that’s about it,” Dean says an hour later. “She’s squeaky clean.”

Sam doesn’t bother to tell Dean that he figured that out about forty-five minutes ago. He just nods and grabs his coat to follow his brother out the door.

They park on the opposite side of the street, a few driveways down from Dr. Sodhi’s house, and hope no one asks what they’re doing here. They are fairly conspicuous in the Impala, huge and imposing on this suburban street full of compacts that get good gas mileage. But it would appear that no one is interested in questioning them on this sleepy Saturday.

Dr. Sodhi’s car is in her driveway, and Dean drives by the house once, just to quickly glance in. She’s sitting in the living room, book in hand, television on in the background, and looking very much like every other person who ever took a Saturday to relax.

“I’m bored,” Dean announces, after a solid two hours of nothing interesting. The doctor hasn’t left the house, nothing strange has happened, and both of their stomachs are starting to growl again. 

Sam sighs. “Yeah. Okay. I guess we can come back later.”

“Yes!” Dean pumps one fist like he’s won some game or debate, then slams the car in the direction of a fast food restaurant. “You know, when we come back, we could just go in. Take care of it.”

“What?”

“Well, what are we waiting around for? She’s the one doing it. Why can’t we just take her out?”

“Because...because we don’t know what she is. What if she’s something we aren’t ready for?”

Dean considers that for a moment, then shrugs. “There was EMF. It’s got to be a ghost. She’s possessed.”

“I still don’t think we should just attack until we’re sure. Let’s figure this out first, okay?”

Dean nods his agreement. “Fine. But be honest. You like her, don’t you? That’s why you don’t want to kill her.”

“I don’t hate her,” Sam shrugs. “She’s like a statue, too flawless. But she’s good at her job. She got us talking, didn’t she?”

Dean glances away from the road to look at Sam. “What? You think we needed therapy?”

“Dean, I think we probably need all kinds of therapy. Individually and together.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Sure. Hunting evil and saving the world and shit. But us? I thought we were good.”

“We are,” Sam agrees. “But come on. We’re pretty messed up. Codependent was the word she used, and she’s not wrong.”

Dean doesn’t say anything in response, and before Sam can think of a way to break the awkward moment, they are pulling into a burger joint. But when he parks the car, he doesn’t get out.   
He just sits there, staring out the window at nothing.

“You think we’re messed up?”

Sam opens his mouth to answer, to say _yes of course we are,_ but Dean shakes his head.

“I don’t mean it like that. I know that hunting and all the life and death stuff has fucked with us. But just. Us. RIght now, just trying to do our job and live our lives. You think we’re messed up?”

Sam feels brave, with the shadows of evening covering their faces and Dean too nervous to look at him, like he already knows the answer to this question. Sam leans a little closer when he answers, almost touching Dean’s arm with his own. “I think we spend way too much time together. And I think I get a little anxious those times when we can’t spend all of our time together.”

“That’s not codependent. That’s just…”

Sam smiles softly, waiting for Dean to think this through. Eventually, he just shrugs, unable to come up with an answer. 

“That’s just us?” Sam offers.

“Yeah.” Dean slides back into the seat, shifts a little closer so that their arms actually are touching now, and huffs out a breath of air. “Us.”

Sam doesn’t move, doesn’t want to break this moment of weakness in Dean. It’s sweet and comforting, and something else Sam doesn’t want to think about, something that feels very much like butterflies in his stomach. 

“Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

Dean leans over, practically whispers the words in Sam’s ear. “Whatever we are, I’m glad you’re with me.”

He gets out of the car then, jacket collar turned up against the wind, defenses put back up with it, and heads inside the restaurant. Sam follows, pretending that his hands aren’t shaking, that he’s not burning up from the inside out with Dean’s words.

********

After they eat, they find themselves back on Dr. Sodhi’s street, watching as the lights in the houses go dark one by one. Eventually, Dr. Sodhi’s upstairs window, the one they assume is her bedroom, goes out.

“I think we’re in the clear for the night,” Dean says. “Doesn’t seem like she’s going anywhere.”

“Then let’s get some sleep,” Sam suggests. 

“And what’s the plan after that?”

“More research. Figure out what ghost is possessing her. How and why. What’s keeping it here. And we keep our therapy appointment on Monday.”

“Awesome,” Dean grumbles. Sam manages not to smile.

There’s more Dean wants to say, Sam can tell. He waits patiently as they make their way back to the motel, waits patiently as they shower and get ready for bed, brushing their teeth together in the sink like they always do, a routine so familiar they couldn’t break the rhythm of it if they tried. 

But Dean says nothing. 

He hovers, though. His arm brushes Sam’s, he sits on the edge of Sam’s bed to watch television, he drinks out of Sam’s beer instead of just getting his own. Like he’s purposely pushing the boundaries. Testing the waters. Testing them, and what they are and aren't allowed. 

Sam lets Dean’s mood shift, lets the gears in Dean’s head turn undisturbed as he tries to work out whatever this is. Sam has his own thinking to do. 

Starting with why he’s so relieved, and a little happy, that Dean is so confused.


	5. Sunday

“Rise and shine, Sammy! I got something.”

“What?” Sam rolls over and blinks his eyes open reluctantly. Neither of them have ever been particularly cheerful when they wake up. They both grump and huff and whine when they are awakened before they’re ready, especially if there’s no real reason for it. 

But it’s never stopped them from being excessively gleeful about being the one who does the waking. Dean is grinning down at him, holding out a cup of coffee. “Here you go, Princess. Cream and sugar.”

“Thanks.” Their fingers brush as Sam sits up and takes the styrofoam cup, and Sam is suddenly awake, senses acutely aware of the contact like it’s not the most normal thing in the world. Like it’s not something that’s happened a million times.

Dean’s smile is genuine and soft this morning rather than sarcastic and teasing, and Sam can’t help but smile back. He takes a sip of his coffee, smiles wider at the thought of Dean putting cream and sugar in it for him. “Whatcha got?” Sam finally asks.

Dean’s eyebrows jump up, like he’s just remembered he was saying something before. “Oh! So, I did some digging, and I found out that our good doctor isn’t as squeaky clean as we thought.”

“Yeah?”

Dean sinks down onto the edge of Sam’s bed, leans forward to rest his arms on his thighs while he talks. He’s wearing his oldest blue jeans, the ones that are so worn and soft that Dean saves them only for days like today, when he doesn’t expect to leave the motel room. There’s a hole in one of the knees, and Sam can see a freckle on the patch of Dean’s skin showing through.   
“Yeah. There’s some missing time when she was in college. It’s like she disappeared off the face of the earth for a while. She was majoring in chemical engineering, part of a sorority, all that. And then she just took a year off, no explanation. When she came back, she lived off campus, and became a therapist instead. And there’s no record of where she was during that year.”

“What about her family? They must know where she was.”

Dean shakes his head. “Apparently, her parents were killed in a car accident when she was a teenager. She was in foster care for a few years, then was on her own.”

“How did you find all this out?” Sam asks.

“You aren’t the only one who knows how to search the Internet, Sammy. I’ve been watching you do it since the Internet became a thing. I pay attention.” Dean is equal parts proud of himself and hurt that Sam has so little faith in his research skills, and Sam is instantly apologetic.

“I know. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Dean shrugs, grinning to show he’s not really mad. Sam stares at the freckle on Dean’s knee for a moment as he processes this new information, lets his eyes slide down to Dean’s feet, white socks bright and cheerful against the dirty carpet. 

As he looks and thinks, he becomes aware that he’s not the only one looking. 

Sam’s only wearing his boxers, and his chest is bare as Dean’s eyes slide over it. His first instinct is to pull away, to cover himself up, but something stops him. It’s not like Dean hasn’t seen his chest before. The only thing that’s different is how Dean is staring at him, how his eyes are a little darker than usual, and how his lips are glistening because he can’t stop licking them.

Sam takes a deep breath and remembers Dr. Sodhi’s words about trusting the other. The words may have come from a murdering ghost, but they aren’t bad advice.

So Sam decides to stay right where he is. To trust Dean and this moment. To see where that trust leads them.

Dean takes the cup of coffee out of Sam’s hands and sets it on the bedside table. When it’s out of the way, Dean leans forward, caging Sam in with his arms, determination in the set line of his jaw and the frown line between his eyes. Sam goes with it, leans back until he’s lying down again, staring up into Dean’s face, so so close. Close enough that Sam can almost taste the coffee Dean’s already had, black and bitter.

“What the hell is this, Sammy?” Dean isn’t angry. He doesn’t even seem all that surprised. There’s just a resignation about him, and maybe a little relief that he’s finally said it out loud.

“I don’t know,” Sam answers honestly. 

“I just can’t…” Dean hangs his head a little, closes his eyes.

“Can’t stop thinking about everything?”

“Yeah. That doctor really fucked with me. Sorry.”

Sam grabs Dean’s arms when he tries to pull away. “Don’t be sorry.”

The moment drags between them, early morning sunbeams watching through the window as they stare, dare each other to be the one to move.

They end up moving at the same time, moving toward each other like the magnets they’ve always been, noses bumping as their lips touch.

Sam isn’t sure what he expected to feel. There aren’t any fireworks, no rising music, he doesn’t feel the world fall away beneath him. He also doesn’t feel disgusted or terrified. He just feels Dean, solid and warm above him, the scent of him everywhere, the taste of him in Sam’s mouth. He’s already so familiar with all of those things that it just feels natural. Normal, even.

Dean pulls away after only a few seconds, looks down at Sam as he tries to decide how he feels about the kiss. 

“You’ve got morning breath,” he finally says.

Sam rolls his eyes, wraps one of his hands around the back of Dean’s neck, and pulls him back down. This time, Dean growls a little in the back of his throat as Sam slides his other hand around Dean’s waist to the small of his back, pulling him closer.

Now _that_ is definitely better. 

Dean pushes him down, gets one hand in his hair and tugs a little as he slides his tongue into Sam’s mouth. Sam opens for him, lets Dean take what he wants, pushes up against Dean’s chest just to feel the hard resistance there. 

They are both panting when Dean pulls his mouth away, lips so red and swollen that Sam has to actively stop himself from leaning up to kiss them again.

“Uh, that was, um.”

“I know,” Sam tells him, running his hands down Dean’s arms but not holding him there when he sits back up properly, giving them both space to breathe. 

“We should keep working. Figure out what Dr. Sodhi’s deal is.”

Sam nods. “I’ll just, uh, get dressed.”

Dean moves to the table, sinking down into a chair in front of Sam’s laptop. Sam climbs out of bed, grabs his clothes and quickly heads for the bathroom. His thoughts are all over the place. What just happened? Is Dean freaked out? Did they mean that, or has the fake therapy just gotten under their skin a little? Does it matter? They did kiss, after all, and now they have a whole new layer of fucked up to deal with. 

********

“Dude, I got nothin’.”

“Same,” Sam answers. “I can’t figure this out. I gave up on finding out about that missing year and started looking into her patients since she started her practice. Thought maybe I might find something, another death, I don’t know. But I have no idea who this ghost is, or why it’s possessing Dr. Sodhi.”

“At this point, I’m not so sure she isn’t the ghost herself,” Dean sighs.

Sam knows that can’t be true, but at this point, it’s not the stupidest idea. “I’m taking a break,” he announces. “We’ll keep looking, but I think our best bet now is to just go to the therapy session tomorrow. See if we can get anything out of her.”

Dean nods, takes a swig of his beer, and props his feet up on the table, tilting his chair back on two legs.

Sam stares again, this time at Dean’s t-shirt instead of his jeans. It’s as worn and soft as the old denim, tight cotton that’s more gray now than black, a thread unraveling from the sleeve as it stretches across his bicep.

“You’re starin’, Sammy.”

“Sorry.”

Dean smirks. “It’s fine. I know it must be hard to take your eyes off all this.”

“Why do you do that?” Sam asks.

“Do what?”

“You get insecure and you make jokes. Why is it so hard to believe that you’re just worth looking at?” Sam probably shouldn’t just come right out and say things like that, but they’ve already crossed so many lines today that it doesn’t really matter anymore. 

Dean lowers his eyes for a moment, but when he looks back at Sam, he’s not smirking anymore. His face is open. A little nervous. “Am I worth looking at?”

Sam lets his eyes trail over the long line of Dean’s body. “Definitely.”

“You are too, you know.” Dean stands then, fingers lingering on the beer bottle for a moment as he sets it down.

“Yeah? What about me is worth looking at?” It’s a teasing question, and this new flirting is so silly, so good that it hurts deep in Sam’s chest.

Sam expects Dean to say something about his hair, or maybe how tall he is. But Dean surprises him. “Your hands.”

“My hands?”

Dean steps forward and grabs one of Sam’s hands, holds it up and gently rubs it between both of his. “They’re all strong, and your fingers are so long. Makes me wonder…”

Dean doesn’t finish his thought. Doesn’t have to. Sam’s already breathing hard. And then- oh God- and then Dean takes Sam’s index finger and sucks it into his mouth. Dean’s teeth scrape over the length of it, just once, before he lets go and Sam’s arm drops back down to his side. But the damage is done, and Sam’s cock is swelling in his pants, surging with the feel of Dean’s mouth. 

Sam crashes into him heavily, but Dean’s ready, just kisses him back with the same force, hard and messy, mouths slick with spit in no time.

And then Dean’s pulling away again, panting into Sam’s neck for just a second before letting go completely. “We should. Uh.”

Sam only nods and drops down to his bed, grabbing the television remote just to have something to do.

When this is all over, maybe they should consider going to therapy for real.


	6. Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of the smut! Check the tags I've used before reading, because it gets explicit from here! XOXO

“I got nothing.” Sam mutters to himself as he stares at the EMF meter, doing absolutely nothing in his hand. He looks up and shakes his head at Dean, who is currently flirting with Leah in the doorway of Dr. Sodhi’s office. He’s been there since he convinced her to let them into the office early, on the premise that Sam lost a glove, and they wondered if it might be in there.

Leah had been too helpful, instantly letting them in, while batting her eyelashes at Dean. Sam, once again, feels that jealousy in his gut, more intense now that he knows the feel of Dean’s tongue. It’s silly, he knows, but he’s given up trying to make sense of anything right now.

“Hello.” Dr. Sodhi’s calm voice suddenly fills the room, making all of their heads turn to where she's appeared in the doorway. “Your appointment isn’t for another ten minutes,” she reminds them.

Leah pipes up. “That’s my fault. Dean here asked if they could come look for Sam’s lost glove, and I just couldn’t tell him no.” She smiles up at Dean, all honey and syrup, and Sam has to fight back his open disgust.

“Yes, well. There’s plenty of filing to be done, Leah,” Dr. Sodhi says, keeping her voice pleasant while still letting everyone know that this is unacceptable. Leah hurries out while Sam and Dean shift uncomfortably, wondering if they should wait or leave.

“You might as well sit down.” She nods at the couch, then takes her seat in the chair across from it.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles.

As they sit down, Sam stares at her. He’s not exactly sure what he’s looking for, some outward sign of ghost possession he supposes, but he’s not sure exactly what that would be. Nothing about her seems even remotely abnormal, which is why she seems so fucking weird to him. He sighs in frustration, shrugging his hair out of his face while Dean fidgets next to him.

“You two seem good today,” she comments.

“Huh?” Dean asks, voicing what Sam is thinking.

“Well, look at yourselves. You’re leaning into one another. Last week, you were clinging to opposite ends of that couch.”

Sam glances down, sees his leg almost pressed against Dean’s, notices that they’re angled toward each other. 

Huh.

“Yeah,” he says. “I, uh. I guess we’re good.”

“Why is that? Did something happen over the weekend?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Dr. Sodhi,” Dean interrupts, “about that frame on the wall. Is that your college diploma?”

She glances over. "Yes, it is,” she smiles, unruffled by the change of subject.

“I never got a degree myself,” Dean says, laying on the charm with the warmth of his voice. “Always thought I might go back. Did you always want to be a counselor?”

_Smooth_. Sam keeps a straight face, but he wants to smile at Dean, at how easily he does this. Sam can lie, can manipulate when he needs to, but it’s all practiced, all calculated. Dean can talk to people with a natural ease Sam will never have.

“No,” Dr. Sodhi says, and for the first time, Sam sees a break, sees a flash of something cold in her eyes. Grief? Anger? “I actually planned on getting my degree in engineering.”

“What changed your mind?” Dean keeps his tone light, curious.

“Things happen,” she shrugs, voice clipped, telling them that the subject is closed. Just as quickly as her mood changed, it shifts again, and she smiles at them. “I’m so glad that the two of you seem to be more open to each other. I’d like to try something a little deeper today, if you don’t mind.”

“Deeper?” Sam asks, skeptical.

“Just a little more intense. But I truly think you’re ready.”

“Alright. Hit us,” Dean smiles, fake cheer in his tone.

“Physical communication is just as important as verbal.”

Sam feels Dean tense up next to him, muscles going rigid and tight.

“And after infidelity,” Dr. Sodhi continues, “it can be hard to get the physical intimacy back. That is a different kind of trust that must be rebuilt right along with your emotional bond.”

“Okay,” Sam says slowly, drawing his voice up at the end to signify that he’s asking a question.

“Turn to each other and hold hands.”

Dean snorts. “What? No.”

“Dean,” she warns. 

Sam isn’t sure it’s a good idea, but he also doesn’t want to do anything to mess this up, especially while they still don’t have all the information they need. So he turns and holds out one hand, glaring at Dean until Dean rolls his eyes and grabs it, lacing his fingers through Sam’s automatically.

“Now, I want you to maintain that contact through our session. Just be physically connected to each other while you talk. Okay?”

She leads them through a series of mundane questions that Sam answers while Dean pouts silently. She asks about their roles in the relationship, asks about different personality traits in order to then discuss compatibility, and how to work as a team to use each of their strengths to combat their weaknesses. Sam is actually a little surprised at how easy it is to be honest, at how much all of these things apply to their real relationship, and not just the fake one they’ve created for Dr. Sodhi.

And Sam is definitely surprised at the heat of Dean’s hand in his. The contact is nothing at first. It’s just a little awkward to be holding Dean’s hand as he talks. But then, it stops feeling like something he’s been made to do and starts feeling like just...well, good. Dean’s skin is rough and calloused and warm, sliding over Sam’s when he starts to absently stroke Sam’s thumb with his own. Eventually, he’s squeezing Sam’s hand every now and then, telling Sam to watch what he says, or letting Sam know that he understood the reference Sam just made. 

By the end of the hour, they’re clinging to each other’s fingers, rubbing and sliding them together where they rest on Sam’s thigh. The contact is so small, but it’s gone all through Sam, making him shivery hot and on edge, making him desperate and needy for more so that all his words come out a little breathy. 

And Dean isn’t speaking, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off their linked hands in the last thirty minutes, so Sam’s pretty sure he’s feeling it, too.

Sam reminds himself to focus, to bring up cheating as much as possible to try and force some sort of reaction out of the doctor, to try and get some sort of clue as to what’s going on. But there’s nothing.

“Well, that’s all the time we have for today. I’ll see you Wednesday?”

Sam stands up in unison with Dean, their hands falling between them, neither of them letting go. Dr. Sodhi smiles and reaches out to touch Sam’s arm. “We’re making excellent progress.”

Her voice is interrupted by the high pitched whine of the EMF meter in Sam’s jacket pocket.

Dr. Sodhi makes a face as Dean and Sam break apart, Sam jamming his hand in his pocket to turn the fucking thing off as quickly as possible. He laughs it off, playing up his embarrassed expression. “Sorry, I forgot to turn my cell phone off. My ringer is a little...uh…”

Dean chimes in without missing a beat, reaching down to grab Sam’s hand again. “I tell him all the time how annoying it is, but the thinks it’s funny.”

Dr. Sodhi smiles and nods, professional mask still in place. “Wednesday then,” she says, ushering them out.

Dean doesn’t let go of Sam’s hand as they walk out of the building. Leah stares at them, her smile faltering only a little when Dean ignores her completely. Sam pretends not to be happy about that.

On the street, Sam holds on as he talks. “Okay, who the fuck is the ghost possessing her?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean says.

“Of course it does. If we know that, we can find what it’s tied to and get rid of it without hurting the real Dr. Sodhi.” 

Sam’s hand swings as Dean gestures, fingers still tangled together. “We can’t just take the chance that this ghost kills someone else while we’re waiting for it to tell us who it is and how to kill it. We need to grab some stuff from the car and go back in there right now. Stop it for good.”

“One more day, Dean,” Sam pleads. “I can figure this out.”

“And if you can’t, then we get some salt and iron and take care of it, even if that means we can’t save Dr. Sodhi.”

Sam nods his agreement. He opens his mouth to say thanks, then changes his mind and just squeezes Dean’s hand instead. 

Dean grins. “You’re such a sap,” he teases, “wanting to hold my hand.”

Sam rolls his eyes as he slides into the passenger seat, grabbing Dean’s hand again when he climbs in behind the wheel. “So what if I do?” His heart is beating in his chest, jumping with the rush of it, of this new territory he’s lost in.

Dean shrugs. “I could think of better things to do than hold hands.”

The smirk on Dean’s lips is sinful, full of dirty promises, and Sam can’t resist it. He leans over, slides right up against him to run his lips against Dean’s ear as he talks. “What do you want to do to me, then?”

********

The motel door is still clicking shut as Dean pushes with his foot, and they are already all over each other, hands everywhere, gripping and rubbing, mouths attached as they suck and bite. Tension Sam didn’t know existed between them gushes out, finding its release in the way Sam tugs Dean’s shirt off, and the way that Dean tugs at Sam’s hair until his head falls back and Dean can get at his throat like he wants to. Dean’s skin is warm under Sam’s hands, hard muscles rolling beneath it as he moves, pushes Sam toward the bed.

“Tell me,” Sam mumbles into Dean’s shoulder, nipping at Dean’s collarbone before pulling back up to Dean’s mouth, to talk against those lips, slick with spit. “What do you want to do to me?” 

It takes Dean a moment to realize that Sam is continuing the conversation from the car, the one that they never actually had, but Sam hears the breath he sucks in when he gets it.

“Or,” Sam keeps going, keeps pushing to see what he can get away with. “What do you want me to do to you?”

“Christ, Sammy,” Dean moans, thrusting his hips forward. Sam can feel how hard he is. It makes his own cock jump in response. That’s all he’s going to say, and Sam knows it. It’s too much. 

But Sam doesn’t accept that. He bites at Dean’s lips, sucks on his tongue. “This?” He grabs Dean’s waist, fingers digging into bare skin hard enough to leave marks as he grinds their hips together. “Or this?”

Dean’s eyes squeeze shut, his lips part as he groans and leans into it, grinds back just as hard.

“What about this?”

Sam takes a deep breath and drops to his knees. With shaking fingers, he opens Dean’s jeans, slides his hands over the flat of Dean’s stomach, then down, lower and lower until he’s pushing Dean’s pants down.

Sam’s breath comes in quick, nervous bursts. He licks down the line of hair beneath Dean’s belly button, dragging this out to try and calm himself down a little. He wants this. He really does. So bad that his cock is threatening to bust through his jeans. 

But it’s _Dean_ , and it’s still a little weird, and a little intimidating, and Sam’s fucking nervous.

He doesn’t realize he’s trembling until Dean reaches a hand down to stroke over his face, to tilt his chin so that Sam has to look up into those green eyes.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean whispers, his own face flushed with nervous excitement. 

That’s all the encouragement Sam needs. There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just him and Dean, like it’s always been, and Sam needs this.

With a steadier grip, he pulls Dean’s boxers down, stares at the ground while Dean clumsily toes out of his boots so that he can shed his pants and underwear completely. And then, so slowly, Sam lets his eyes glide up Dean’s legs, over knees that are a tiny bit too far apart and thick thighs Sam wants to bite into, all the way up to…

Oh, God. 

Dean is hard, flushed and thick, and Sam’s mouth is watering at the sight of the moisture just at the tip. 

Sam means to go slow. He means to take his time, to be gentle, to enjoy this, to make sure Dean enjoys this.

But the second his tongue touches that hot skin, feels the blood pulsing through Dean’s erection, he can’t do anything but sink his whole mouth onto Dean, groaning around the weight of Dean’s cock like it’s the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth.

And honestly, it is.

It takes him a minute to find a good rhythm, to get as much of Dean’s cock in his mouth as he can handle, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind. He just grabs a handful of Sam’s hair and holds on, letting out broken little noises between his gritted teeth whenever Sam hits a sensitive spot. Sam takes Dean’s lead, stays in those places with his tongue working and pressing until Dean tugs gently, moves him somewhere else. 

Dean’s legs flinch a little when Sam pulls back and sucks just the head, using his hand to cover the rest and stroke hard and fast.

“Fuck, Sammy, gonna make me come,” Dean manages, chewing on his bottom lip so hard Sam thinks it’s probably bleeding. It’s a warning, an out, just in case Sam wants to pull away.

He doesn’t.

Sam moans again, telling Dean he wants this. Dean nods, then lets his head fall back as Sam keeps going, keeps pushing him closer. Sam pulls his hands away long enough to unzip his own jeans, to shove one down in his boxer-briefs to stroke himself, knowing he’ll explode if he doesn’t.

The free hand moves back to Dean, and holy shit, it’s too perfect, the sweet way Dean keeps twitching his hips, like he wants to move but isn’t sure Sam would like it, the way he feels sliding between Sam’s lips, the way Sam’s jaw is starting to ache.

It all builds quickly now, muscles flexing and clenching, and then Dean’s coming, hot and bitter over Sam’s tongue. Sam holds on, pulls every drop out of Dean, swallows them down without thinking about the taste because it’s Dean, because this is absolutely the hottest thing he’s ever been allowed to do.

Dean grabs Sam’s shoulders and leans forward, doing his best not to fall, a wordless cry that he’ll pretend never happened falling out of his lips.

And then Sam is coming, pushing his forehead into Dean’s lower stomach and breathing in deep, the scent and taste of Dean the only thing he’s aware of as the waves of pleasure hit him. He knows he’s making a mess on the carpet, but he can’t be bothered to care. 

Somehow, they survive, manage to calm their breathing and their heart rates. 

“You came too,” Dean says, sounding disappointed.

“That a problem?” Sam says, pulling himself to his feet.

“No. Just.” A new flush creeps over Dean’s cheeks.

“You wanted to.” Sam wishes he was a teenager again, that he could get it up with no recovery time, because he realizes now what a stupid mistake it was to make himself come when it could have been Dean’s hands, his mouth… “Next time,” he says, the words hot and needy despite how spent he feels.

Dean nods, then slides closer, presses himself against Sam in an almost hug, like he just needs to feel the contact. Sam wraps his arms around him and stands there, content to let Dean be the first one to pull away. Eventually, he does, and they clean themselves up silently, not quite sure what to say right now.

When Dean slides into bed, Sam just stands there, feeling a little unsure of himself now that they aren’t touching. Are they still sleeping in separate beds? It seems silly, and Sam suddenly wants nothing more than the heat of Dean’s body next to his while he sleeps, but that’s one more line. One they haven’t agreed to cross yet.

But Dean scoots over, pulls the cover back in silent invitation, and closes his eyes. 

That’s all Sam needs, and he doesn’t hesitate to lie down next to Dean.

They both fall asleep in seconds.


	7. Tuesday

Sam wakes up the second Dean touches him.

The sheets are scratchy, the mattress a little too soft from years of use, but Sam doesn’t care. Not with Dean’s lips on the back of his neck, trailing down to his shoulders. Sam rolls from his side to his stomach, baring his whole back to Dean, and he feels the smile as Dean continues to kiss and suck down his spine, hands working and massaging the muscles, until Sam’s body feels like liquid, melting into the bed.

Sam attempts to roll over, but Dean stops him, grabs his waist and holds him still. “My turn,” he murmurs, and the growl of it scrapes through Sam’s skin to his gut, moving straight down to his dick.

When Dean reaches his ass, Sam’s grateful that they aren’t face to face, grateful that Dean can’t see the blood rush to his face, because there’s no hiding in the early morning sunlight. It feels too good to stop, and Sam knows his modesty will pass, but it takes a minute of blushing into his pillow to get over the idea of Dean being so close.

But then Dean’s mouth is back on him, and Sam can’t think at all. Dean’s tongue drags over his ass, then pulls away to be replaced by Dean’s hands, dragging his legs apart, spreading him open. Sam holds his breath while Dean settles in, lies down between Sam’s legs and ghosts hot breath all over him. 

Dean explores lazily, almost shyly, tongue seeking and kitten-licking until Sam’s sweating, gripping the sheets so tight it’s a wonder they haven’t ripped. He needs Dean to keep going, needs more. The simmering under his skin has turned into full flames, burning through him, all the heat centering around where Dean’s touching him, where he _wants_ Dean to touch him.

Finally, _finally_ , Dean’s tongue dips between Sam’s cheeks, runs a line down over his hole, flat and wet and not nearly hard enough. Sam whines, whole body rigid now, trying to control the force of sensation. The sound is apparently what Dean wanted to hear, because he dives back in, tongue out and ready, and just goes for it.

Sam writhes beneath Dean’s mouth, dances on Dean’s tongue when he pushes it in just a little, barely working Sam open, just letting him feel it. It’s such a strange feeling, to be touched here in this way, but _God_ it’s good. It sends little electric shocks all through Sam, makes him let out low, growling sounds he’s never made before, makes him push back against Dean to get more.

If Dean’s tongue is good, then the slide of his finger, slick with spit, is even better, pushing in so slowly, like he’s afraid of hurting Sam, or like he’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to do. Sam’s hips rock involuntarily, forcing Dean to sink deeper, until his finger is buried to the knuckle.

Now _that_ is a new feeling.

Sam calms down, takes a second to adjust. Dean doesn’t move his finger, just shifts up and presses kisses over the small of Sam’s back. 

“You okay?” he pants, apparently just as worked up over all this as Sam is.  

“Yes,” Sam moans, voice muffled by the pillow he’s been biting. “Holy fuck...yes.”

Dean slowly pulls his finger away, leaving Sam empty and instantly frustrated, until Dean’s strong hands grab his hips and twist. Sam helps to flip himself over to his back, looks up at Dean hovering over him, mouth swollen, hair sticking everywhere, eyes almost black.

“Sam…”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Sam soothes, not wanting now to be the time Dean decides to panic. “Please…”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, “okay.” He leans down and slowly slides his finger back into Sam, who arches his back with the burn of it, loving the feel of it now, needing so much more. Dean gently thrusts, not picking up the pace until Sam wordlessly tells him to, until he’s rocking his hips back and forth faster than Dean is moving, urging him on. 

Dean unceremoniously spits on his fingers, then presses a second one in, just barely slipping the tip inside. Sam groans, stops once again to let himself get used to the new sensation. He finds that he needs it, that he loves the stretch and the full feeling. That he’s already addicted to this. To Dean.

And then Dean’s mouth is on him, sucking his cock into that wet heat and sucking. _Hard_. 

Sam cries out, thrusting up into Dean’s mouth, crying out louder when Dean’s fingers keep working. Sam writhes without purpose for a second, trying to get his bearings, then starts a rhythm, up into Dean’s mouth then down onto his fingers, over and over, hot and wet and slick and fucking perfect, until he’s sweating and his back is aching from twisting with each of Dean’s sucks.

“Come up here,” Sam finally manages, gasping the words between moans. 

Dean slides up Sam’s body, still naked from the night before, skin running over skin, and settles his hips on top of Sam’s, slotting right in like he belongs there.

Sam can’t stop his hands from running over the muscles in Dean’s back as he pulls him down for a long, messy kiss. He wraps his legs around Dean and shifts his hips a little, and holy shit, the feel of Dean’s hard cock against his, that incredible friction...Sam lets his head fall back, lips still wet with Dean’s spit, and moans loud.

Dean’s just as gone, dropping his head to bury it in Sam’s shoulder and bite down with a growl.

They move together, thrusting and rubbing, fingernails digging, mouths biting and sucking, not caring that they’re movements are a little clumsy and awkward. It’s enough to make them come all over each other, bodies slamming into one another with the force of it, shaking and trembling until they are just hanging on by their connected lips.

After a few minutes, Dean gets up and heads to the shower without a word, but the smile he throws over his shoulder is enough to make Sam’s heart race all over again.

********

“It’s her sister!” Sam jerks forward in his chair, senses alert, adrenaline already pumping in preparation. Finally, after most of the day sitting in this tiny room in front of this tiny screen, he’s found something.

“What?” Dean looks up, frowning, body tensing.

“Dr. Sodhi had a sister. She died just before the doctor disappeared for that year. And get this- she committed suicide after killing her fiance.”

“Was he cheating?” Dean asks.

“Doesn’t say. But it tracks, doesn’t it? Sister finds out fiance is cheating and things get out of control, she kills him and then kills herself out of guilt, and now Dr. Sodhi is possessed with her ghost. She’s repeating the crimes.”

“But why?”

Sam shrugs. “Punishment for others who cheat? Repeating what she did because she’s stuck, hoping it will turn out differently each time? Who knows? But Dean, look.”

He turns the screen around shows Dean the picture of the sister, young and happy with her arms thrown around a young man’s neck. There, glittering on her wrist, is the same diamond bracelet Dr. Sodhi wears.

“Let’s go,” Dean nods.

They make the drive to Dr. Sodhi’s house in record time. Luckily, her car is in the driveway and the light in the front room is on. 

“Plan?” Sam asks, shoving a pair of iron handcuffs into his pocket.

“Get the bracelet off her. Salt and burn it. Simple and easy, yeah?”

“Here’s hoping,” Sam agrees.

They simply knock on the front door and wait.

The doctor looks genuinely surprised when she opens the door. “Sam? Dean?” 

They don’t waste time. Sam lunges forward, bracing himself as he throws all of his weight into her small body. She flies backward and he goes with her, pinning her to the wall of her front hallway. Dean joins him then, their combined weight holding her long enough for Sam to get the cuffs out and against her skin. He doesn’t get it clamped down before the ghost is gone, dark mist rising and disappearing to wherever it is ghosts go in times like this. 

“Get the bracelet!” Sam shouts.

Dean grabs Dr. Sodhi’s other wrist, pulls out a handkerchief, and yanks the bracelet off of her wrist. It almost feels too easy, but they don't question it.

Instantly, the woman collapses into Sam, all the fight gone out of her. Sam catches her, holds on as he walks them both to the couch, where he gently sits her down.

“You take care of her,” Dean says. “I’m going out back to burn this. Five minutes.”

“Be careful,” Sam replies. They look at each other and nod, assuring each other that they are okay, that it’s over, that they’re safe and together. Dean lets his gaze linger just a little longer than usual before heading toward the back of the house.

“Dr. Sodhi?” Sam says softly, turning to the woman sprawled out next to him. 

“Leela,” she says weakly. “My name is Leela.”

“Leela,” Sam repeats. “Are you okay?”

“I...I don’t know. Maya…”

“Is that your sister?”

She nods. “She died, but…”

“She was possessing you.” Sam tries to keep his voice gentle, but there’s no way to sugar coat this.

The doctor nods. “For years.” She starts babbling then, the voice of someone totally in shock. “I was there, trapped inside my own body. There were moments when I was right there at the surface, screaming, but there are chunks of time that are just gone, and I don’t know…” Her voice is shaking, eyes filling with tears.

“Shhh,” Sam soothes, reaching out to grab her hand and squeeze it. “It’s going to be okay.”

Dean comes back in then, the scent of smoke lingering on his jacket. “It’s over,” he says.

Leela sighs and falls back into the couch cushion, closing her eyes like breathing is the only thing she has the energy to focus on.

********

It takes the rest of the evening, but they finally piece the whole story together. 

“So, Maya’s spirit possessed you right after her death. It was _her_ that wanted to become a marriage counselor- that’s how she found her victims.” Sam’s thinking out loud now, but Dean and the doctor both nod along. “And she used your body to commit the murders, make it look like the couples murdered themselves.”

“I don’t understand why she wanted to kill people. Why she made me kill-” Leela’s voice breaks on a sob and she puts her hand over her mouth. 

“It wasn’t you,” Dean tells her, voice strong and comforting.

The doctor nods, tears still falling. “I know that. I just...it’s going to take some time.”

Sam aches for her. “We don’t really understand why ghosts do what they do. Sometimes they have a specific agenda, sometimes they’ve just drained away and become vengeful echoes of who they were.”

She closes her eyes again, like maybe she can make all this disappear, take it all back.

“And you two,” she finally says. “How did you figure this out? How did you know how to stop her?”

Dean grins. “That’s kind of what we do.”

She stares blankly. “So you two aren’t really patients? You lied about being a couple?”

“It’s... complicated,” Sam tells her.

They leave soon after that, giving her time to process, with a promise to return tomorrow to check on her and continue their conversation. Dean is oddly quiet as they say their goodbyes and head to the car.

“You okay?” Sam asks.

“I’m good, Sammy. Just glad that’s all over.”

Sam nods, scoots over to the middle of the seat to lean against Dean’s side as he drives. Hesitantly, Dean puts an arm around him, pulls him just a little closer, muscles flinching like he’s afraid he’s going too far. Sam turns his head to kiss Dean’s temple, and Dean smirks a little, making Sam’s stomach flip in anticipation.

Back at the motel, they eat and change clothes, get ready for bed, and Dean’s silence is starting to make Sam nervous. He wants to touch him, wants to be touched, wants some sign that everything is okay, but Dean is as unreadable as he always is when he gets in these moods. 

Sam knows from experience the best thing to do is just give him his space, but it’s harder now. There’s more at risk this time, more that he could lose if he lets Dean freak himself out about everything. 

But they are both exhausted and tired, and nothing’s going to change between now and the morning. So Sam says nothing, just breathes a sigh of relief when Dean gives him half of his bed again. He flops down, Dean’s breathing steady in his ears, and lets himself fall asleep.


	8. Wednesday

Sam wakes up alone, the other side of the bed cold and empty.

“Dean?” he calls out, sitting up and blinking sleepily.

“I’m right here, Sammy.”

Sam flinches at Dean’s voice, coming from the chair across the room. There’s venom behind the word ‘Sammy’, a harshness that isn’t usually there. “What’s wrong?” Sam asks, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and forcing his muscles to wake up, to get ready for whatever this is.

“Wrong? We’ve been talking about what’s wrong for a week and a half now. You cheated on me.”

“What?” Sam’s mind is racing to keep up. “What are you-” 

And then it hits him. 

“You aren’t Dean.”

“Yahtzee! That’s what he always says, right?”

Sam watches as Dean’s body leans forward. “Maya,” Sam says uselessly. 

“Two in a row! Someone’s top of their class.” Dean’s face is drawn into a sneer, the ghost inside him twisting his features into an expression Dean would never wear. 

Sam’s heart pounds, and he wants to jump up, wants to fight, to fix this, but it’s _Dean this time_. He can’t just act now and think later. He has to be careful.

“What do you want?” he asks. It’s a stupid question, but it’s the only thing he can think of to waste time while he tries to focus and come up with a plan. 

“It’s not what I want. It’s what the two of you deserve.” 

A gleam catches Sam’s eyes, and he sees the gun in Dean’s hand. 

“I really hate cheaters. And I hate the weaklings who are with them,” Maya continues, dropping Dean’s voice to a low growl, “But you two? You two are a whole new level of fucked up.”

Dean stands, scratches the back of his head with the gun. Fear freezes the blood in Sam’s veins at the sight of the weapon that close to Dean. “We lied,” Sam says, wondering if this will work. “We just wanted to investigate your sister. We’re brothers, not a couple. No one cheated on anyone.”

“Oh, I _know_ you’re brothers. That’s why you’re so fucked up. The two of you can hardly stand to be in separate rooms, can you? I can see it all in his mind.” Dean points to his head, and Sam flinches at how not like Dean the motion is. “And let me tell you, this is the worst case I’ve seen. Every time the two of you turn around, you’re betraying each other. Ruby, Benny, Amelia...I don’t even know which one of you is the cheater and which one is the cheated.”

“It’s not like that-”

“It’s exactly like that. And now the two of you have admitted it to yourselves. I know what you’ve been doing in this room the last few days.”

All of Sam’s fear shifts then, boils up until it turns to anger. Those thoughts are _Dean’s_. They belong to Dean, and to Sam, and to them only. The thought of some evil spirit hearing their moans or tasting their kisses sends Sam over the edge, and he’s off the bed with no more thought or planning, flying through the air and slamming himself into Maya.

Only Maya is in Dean’s body, and Dean is strong enough to fight back. 

A hard punch cracks into Sam’s jaw, makes him stumble backward for a moment. “Don’t fight it, Sam. You deserve this. You all deserve this. You should have been faithful.”

“And what about your sister?” Sam huffs, throwing all of his weight into a kick that knocks Dean back into the wall. “What did she do to deserve any of this? You stole her life from her.”

Dean stops fighting, a sarcastic smile crossing his lips. “What did my sister _do_? My sister let us be separated when our parents died. My sister lived in a happy foster home for a couple of years, then left for college, while I bounced around from house to house and never found a home. I needed her, and she wasn’t there!”

“So this was about her, too,” Sam says. “Not just the guy who cheated on you. Get your revenge and ruin your sister’s life in the process. Two birds, one stone.”

Maya nods, Dean’s head bobbing with it, a little lost in the memories that torment her, and Sam takes his opening. In one swift movement, he throws his entire body into Dean’s, holding him against the wall as he grabs his wrists. 

No bracelet.

“Where is it?” Sam growls, ducking down as Dean gets free and attempts to hit him again. Instead of raising back up, he jams his hands in the pockets of Dean’s blue jeans, fingers scratching against the rough edges of the diamond bracelet he finds there. 

He yanks it free, leaving Maya a little stunned as she watches the source of her power get ripped away. It doesn’t take her very long to recover, however, and Sam’s got Dean at his back in no time, struggling to get the bracelet back as Sam fights to get a lighter working. 

Diamond bracelets don’t burn easily, but holding it in the flame seems to do the trick, and Sam watches as the spirit leaves Dean, as Dean’s whole body seems to flame up for a few seconds as Maya screams and disappears. 

And then Dean is huddled on the floor, eyes closed, so still that Sam’s heart almost stops. 

“Dean?” Sam falls next to his brother, one hand on his face and one on his chest. “Dean!” He can feel Dean’s heartbeat, and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, but Sam doesn’t stop panicking until Dean’s eyes flutter open.

“Sammy?”

“It’s okay, Dean. She’s really gone this time.”

Dean nods and lets his head fall back to the floor as he takes a deep breath, squirms around like he wants to be sure his body is his again. 

Sam just stares at him, wanting the same reassurance.

********

It takes a few hours, but they destroy the bracelet, making absolutely sure that Maya’s ghost is permanently gone. 

And then there’s nothing left to do. The case is over and they can go back to the bunker, get on with their lives.

“We could stay one more night,” Sam suggests. “Let you rest a little.”

Dean slumps down on the edge of his bed and nods. “Okay.”

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“We should talk. About all of this.”

Dean rubs a hand over his jaw and licks his lips nervously. “Nothin’ to talk about.”

“Yes, there is,” Sam insists. 

The sight of Dean, so tired, shoulders hunched with the weight of one more attack, breaks Sam. He kneels down in front of Dean, runs his hands up Dean’s thighs, stares up into Dean’s surprised and slightly fearful eyes. “It’s you, Dean. Always has been.” 

It’s not like they’ve never come close to losing each other before, and today’s ghost possession really doesn’t make their list of close calls. But Sam knows what it feels like to be touched by Dean now, knows what his orgasm tastes like, and everything is fucked up and so much more intense now.

So the words just keep falling out of his mouth. “And I’m so so sorry for not always knowing it, but I know it now, and I swear, it’s just you and me. I don’t care how fucked up it is, or how scared you are, it’s just you and me, okay?” He’s digging into Dean’s thighs now, holding on like he’s trying to keep Dean from running. It will kill him if Dean freaks out, if he panics or leaves.

But Dean just stares at him, then slowly covers Sam’s hands with his own, holding them still as he laces their fingers together.

Sam instantly scrambles up into Dean’s lap, pushing them both down on the bed and slamming his mouth against Dean’s. They grab and tug as they kiss, desperate to get their clothes off, to feel skin against skin. And the heat of Dean’s chest against his own is so good, a slick slide as they start to sweat, rolling around in the bed, tongues and hands wandering everywhere.

Sam groans when he feels Dean’s cock drag against his, rocks up into it and drinks down the gasp that pulls out of Dean. 

“Dean? Please…”

“Tell me what you want,” Dean murmurs, biting down Sam’s jaw.

“I want _you_.”

“You sure?” Dean’s forehead presses into Sam’s, lips brushing together as Dean speaks.

Sam runs his hands down Dean’s chest, pushes him up enough that he can see Sam’s face as he answers. “I’m sure.”

Dean swallows hard and nods, then gets out of bed and digs through his duffel bag.

“What are you doing?” Sam whines from the bed, cock leaking all over his stomach.

“I have lube in here somewhere,” Dean answers.

Sam snorts a laugh. “You do?”

Dean shrugs. “It makes jerking off so much better.” Sam can’t argue with that, so he just watches as Dean pulls out a small bottle, then crawls back up on the bed, settles himself between Sam’s legs. 

Any traces of joking are gone when Dean kisses him this time, so deep and passionate that it hurts Sam’s chest, makes him feel like he’s about to explode. 

Dean takes his time getting Sam ready, slicking his fingers up and sliding them into Sam’s hole one at a time, watching Sam’s face so closely. Sam feels the blood rush to the surface of his skin, feels every nerve stand to attention as he spreads his legs wider, giving Dean more room. 

When Dean’s three fingers deep, Sam’s sweating and writhing and impatient. 

“Dean, please…” he whimpers, pushing his hips down to take Dean’s fingers deeper. “Just do it.”

“Shhh,” Dean soothes. He keeps thrusting his fingers as he kisses down Sam’s chest, biting at a nipple until it’s swollen and hard. Sam’s back arches, and Dean licks down to where his hipbone is popping up, sucks at it hard.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam cries, and this time he sounds desperate enough that Dean listens.

“Alright, Sammy. I got you.”

Sam can’t stand being away from Dean long enough for Dean to lube himself up. His long hands run over Dean’s chest, down to Dean’s stomach, over Dean’s fingers as he strokes himself. 

And then he’s hooking his arm under Sam’s knee to pull one leg up and back as he leans back down, covering Sam’s body with his own. Sam leans up for one more kiss, then shifts his hips until he can feel the head of Dean’s cock nudging against his hole.

Dean bites his lip and clenches his jaw as he pushes in, just barely, then stops. Sam gasps at the heat of it, of how it’s already so much more than Dean’s fingers. He reaches down to grab Dean’s ass and push slowly.

Dean slides in inch by slow inch, and Sam relaxes into the bed, totally lost in the stretch and burn of it, in the sweet pleasure-pain. It takes too long, and Sam starts wriggling, starts trying to thrust his hips down and make Dean move faster, but Dean holds back somehow.

“Holy fuck, Sam,” he finally grunts, head dropping into Sam’s neck like he wants to hide. “Jesus.”

“I know,” Sam agrees, rubbing Dean’s back, using the motion to calm himself as much as Dean. 

“You okay?” Dean slides his tongue against Sam’s earlobe as he asks the question. 

Sam shivers and nods, unable to form words that would make any sense. All he can come up with is “Just...move. Please.” 

Dean keeps pushing in, finally bottoming out, and Sam can feel Dean’s balls pressed against him, tight and full.

Sam’s so full, every cell buzzing, drunk on Dean’s mouth as they kiss and suck each other’s lips. It’s hard not to move, not to just slam himself onto Dean over and over until they’re both coming, but Dean’s weight is holding him down. 

“Sammy,” Dean whispers. It’s not a question this time. Just an acknowledgement. Dean’s looking down at Sam with flushed skin and wet eyes and such a vulnerable expression that Sam forgets about the fact that they’re having sex for a moment to focus on the thump of his own heart. He reaches up to touch Dean’s face, smiling when Dean turns to sweetly kiss his palm.

“Dean,” Sam finally answers. 

Dean slides his knees up slightly, and the sweet moment ends with the sensation the movement causes. Slowly, Dean starts grinding against Sam, not quite thrusting, just circling his hips and moving enough to make Sam’s mouth fall open, too strung out to actually make any noise.

They get lost then, exploring all the different ways they can move, all the different sounds they can pull out of each other, all the different ways they can curl the other’s toes. It ends when Dean finally reaches a hand between them to stroke Sam’s hard cock, really fucking into him then, pushing Sam’s long body up the bed with each push of his hips until Sam’s hands slap the headboard behind him to keep from hitting his head. 

Sam comes hard, every muscle in his body rigid and trembling with the force of it, Dean’s hand working out every last drop Sam has to give. It’s so overwhelming that Sam almost misses the low groan coming from Dean’s throat as he comes too, pushing impossibly deeper as he spills into Sam, hot and thick.

This time, Dean doesn’t pull away, doesn’t insist that they clean up right away. He just collapses onto Sam, crushing him with his weight and sliding his arms underneath Sam’s body, completely surrounding him.

Dean doesn’t have to say anything for Sam to get the message. Dean’s possession scared both of them, and Sam needs this reassurance just as much as Dean does. 

They fall asleep that way, clinging so tightly that they almost can’t breathe, neither of them minding.


	9. Thursday

“Maya was always unhappy. She never quite got over our parent’s death, and it was like she pushed all that anger onto me. It wasn’t like I had a say in where we were placed when we went into foster care, and with all of our relatives in India, it wasn’t like we had family to take us in.”

The shock is wearing off, and Sam can see the red in Leela’s eyes where she’s been crying. It’s been two hours since they came to check on her. After a lot of explaining and answering her questions about how the fuck any of this was possible in the first place, she’s now answering _their_ questions. 

“But Maya and I never got over all of that. I knew she was angry, but this…”

No one speaks. There’s nothing to say, really. This is the kind of hurt that can only be healed with time, if at all. Sam just reaches out to squeeze her hand, the only comfort he has to offer.

“And you?” Dean says quietly. “What are your plans now? Will you stay in counseling?”

Leela shrugs. “I just got my life back. A whole decade is just gone now. I think I’m just going to take some time to figure out...everything.”

Sam nods. “Well, if you need us.” He hands her a card with their cell phone numbers. “We’re here.”

“Thank you,” she smiles. “For everything. And...if you ever need me.” She blurts the words out like she’s nervous about them. “I know I’m not a real counselor, but I did pick up some things over the years.”

“What?” Dean huffs, looking at Sam nervously and shifting his weight. He laughs, a little too loudly. “No, that’s not...you know we aren’t really a couple. We told you, we just, uh, work together, and needed an excuse. It’s not. We aren’t, you know...uh-”

“Thanks,” Sam smiles. He and Leela share a smile as they all head for the door. Clearly, they can’t hide whatever is between them. “We appreciate that.”

They say their goodbyes and Sam soon finds himself next to Dean in the passenger seat of the Impala, surrounded by the leather and classic rock music that has become as much a part of him as his internal organs. 

“Calm down, Dean,” he grins. “She doesn’t know we’re brothers.”

Dean makes a face as he backs out of the driveway. “Let’s just get home and forget about all this, okay?”

Sam’s stomach sinks. “Forget about _all_ of this?”

Dean’s eyes soften at the fear in Sam’s voice, and he reaches for Sam’s hand, tangles their fingers together and squeezes hard. “That’s not what I meant. I meant forget about the case and the   
ghosts. There are better things for us to think about.”

Sam relaxes, pulls their hands to his mouth to kiss over Dean’s fingers. “Yes, there are.”

Somehow, Sam manages to wait until hours later, when they are on some deserted stretch of highway close to home, to let go of Dean’s hand and slide his own up Dean’s thigh. Dean spreads his legs a little, giving Sam permission or making room for his erection. Sam isn’t quite sure which, but it doesn’t matter. They’re the same thing now. 

It’s a dangerous game to do this while Dean’s driving, but Sam has to touch him, has to get his mouth and hands on Dean right now, just because he can. Because he’s allowed to. And part of him is really curious to see how far Dean will let him go right now.

Dean doesn’t make a sound as Sam’s hand slides up and down the hard muscle beneath his blue jeans, so Sam scoots over into Dean’s space and latches onto Dean’s earlobe, sucking it hard. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean hisses, leaning into the touch as Sam licks around the shell of his ear, tongue exploring. “That feels…”

“I know,” Sam whispers. His own ears have always felt like they were connected to his dick, if someone sucked and licked just right, and Sam’s happy to see that’s something they share. He keeps his mouth working over the soft skin as his hand palms over Dean’s lap, finds the hard bulge there and gently squeezes.

That’s all it takes for Dean to slam on the brakes, to pull the car off the road into some nameless midwestern grain field. 

Sam follows Dean’s lead when he gets out of the car, stripping off his clothes, Dean pausing only to duck into the back seat long enough to dig the lube out of his bag. They meet at the trunk, stepping out of their underwear and completing the trail of clothes they’ve left circling the car. Dean says nothing, just crashes into Sam, hot and hard and solid, arms sliding over Sam’s back and possessively pulling him in. 

When they finally pull away, mouths swollen and spit-slick, Dean still doesn’t say anything. Instead, he makes a motion for Sam to turn around, eyes gone dark as he trails them down Sam’s long body, licking his lips as he drinks it all in. 

Sam blushes a little under the scrutiny as he spins around, but it’s so fucking hot to have Dean look at him like this that it only lasts until Dean slides a hand down his spine, not stopping until he’s groping Sam’s ass. 

Sam spreads his legs a little, pushes back against Dean’s hand as he lets his head fall back to Dean’s shoulder.

“No, Sammy. You want me to touch you? You’re gonna have to bend over and show me how much you want it.”

Holy shit. 

It had been all sweet and tender words until now, all passion and reverence in every touch. But this is pure lust, hot and dirty, and Sam’s cock was begging for it, pulsing with need. Slowly, he lets his hands fall, palms flat against the trunk, and slides them forward, letting his upper body go with them until his chest touches the cold metal. He’s spread wide open now, and his skin is still hot, though it’s no longer from blushing. Now it’s just from the pure _want_ pushing itself through his veins. 

Dean presses against him, lets his cock slide over the crease of Sam’s ass as he leans down to suck and bite at Sam’s shoulder blades, one hand tangling in Sam’s hair. The other runs over Sam’s side, lower and lower until his fingers press against Sam’s hole. 

When Dean leans up to drizzle lube over his fingers, Sam frowns at the cold air on his back, missing the weight and heat of Dean’s broad shoulders, pinning him down. But that’s forgotten the second Dean slips a finger in. It burns a little, reminding Sam of exactly what Dean did to him last night, and how his body probably hasn’t recovered. That only makes Sam reach back, grab Dean’s hand and try to force another finger alongside the first.

“Impatient, Sammy?” Dean asks. “You want my cock that bad?”

“God, yes, Dean,” Sam gasps, “Need it. Need you to fuck me hard.” It’s almost as hot to say the words as it is to hear them. 

“I got you,” Dean says, “just let me get you ready.” He slides a second and third finger in and curls them, circles them around until he hits that spot that makes Sam scream wordlessly, dripping sweat onto the car now.

“Dean, come on,” Sam whines, spreading his legs even farther apart and arching his back, helpless as he writhes on Dean’s hand. 

Dean is merciful this time, slicks up his cock quickly and slides right in, like this is his new home and he belongs there. 

“Yes,” Sam shouts, shoving his hips back to take Dean deeper. 

Dean moves carefully at first, slow and easy, but Sam reaches back again, grabs Dean’s hands and pulls so that Dean falls down onto his back. “Fuck me _hard_ ,” Sam demands.

There's a smirk against the back of Sam’s neck, fingers curling through Sam’s as they both brace themselves.

“Like this?” Dean growls.

And then he’s slamming himself into Sam, over and over, deeper than he’s been, and Sam swears he can feel Dean inside his whole body, in his fingers and toes, in his mouth, burning and tingling and throbbing until Sam’s rigid with it, unable to do anything but hold on. 

When Sam just can’t keep it together, when he has to let go, he comes all over the trunk of the Impala, untouched, Dean still buried inside him. The force of it makes his legs go weak, and for one second he thinks they both might fall, but Dean holds on, manages to get an arm around him and hold him up enough that they don’t end up in a pile on the ground. Sam shakes against the car and against Dean, lets the pleasure pulse out of him in thick spurts as he chants Dean’s name, the only word he currently remembers. 

Dean comes too, just as out of control, and Sam feels every second of it, every wave and twitch. He wonders if it will always be like this, if it will always leave him completely undone. He hopes so.

Dean slowly pulls away, breathing like he’s just run a marathon, and helps peel Sam off the car. They grin at each other almost shyly, then start to reach for their underwear. 

“Here,” Dean says when get to Sam’s t-shirt. He tosses it into Sam’s face teasingly. “Clean up the mess you left on my car.”

Sam rolls his eyes, too relaxed to actually be irritated. “Why do we have to use my shirt? You’re the one who insisted I bend over your car. I probably just fulfilled some kind of fantasy for you. You clean it.”

Dean lunges at Sam, nips at his jaw and grinds their hips together. “Your mess, your shirt. You don’t want to clean it up, you should have been the one to fuck me.”

Sam jerks back at that, sucking in a deep breath. “You...you want me to? I mean, you’d let me?”

Dean stares down at the ground, cheeks bright red as he nods yes.

“Come here,” Sam growls, pulling Dean in for a sloppy, messy kiss that’s more tongue than lips. 

“But first,” Dean says, backing away suddenly, “you have to clean up the trunk of my car.”

Sam glares at Dean’s back as he walks around the car, dressing as he goes. 

“Ass,” Sam calls out.

“You love my ass,” Dean retorts, not missing a beat.

Sam shakes his head, not sure if he wants to hit Dean or fuck him or both. “Maybe a little actual therapy wouldn’t hurt us,” he mutters. 

The second he’s dressed and in the car, he doesn’t even pretend he isn’t going to sit in his normal seat. He just goes for the middle, leaning into Dean, who slings an arm around him as he pulls back out onto the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments! I've had so much fun sharing this story with you all, and I really appreciate all the love you've shown it! XOXO


	10. Thank You!

I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who read this story, gave kudos, and left messages. I am a little overwhelmed at the response, to be honest, and I truly appreciate the love you've shown me. Thank you so much!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Your feedback is greatly appreciated!


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